Wednesday, November 11, 2009

the road to hell is paved with etc etc

as i was walking to work today i saw two "Homeless Outreach" workers in what looked like hybrid trenchcoat/hazmat suits made of brown plastic rather forcefully accosting a [presumably homeless] guy sitting on a plant, who was making his case as vocally as they made theirs though i couldn't stop to hear much of what he was saying. the hazmat suits were particularly nauseating--what's wrong, don't want to get homeless-juice on your Laura Ashley pullover? anyway, i hope the guy got only the help he wanted. i've heard stories from many people who've gotten on the wrong end of the city's "homeless services," thanks to my time in a multitude of court-ordered Programs, & that is not a nice place to be. The "cure" is a hell of a lot worse than the "disease" in many of these cases. FOR YOUR OWN GOOD is rarely for any good at all, & even more rarely for yours.

...& then was giggling incongruously the rest of the way to work because the incident reminded me of something that happened during my first trip to Montreal alone in the summer of 2006. i was crossing through a park to meet a friend when i was stopped by two concerned-looking social workers who asked me all puppy-eyed if i had a place to sleep, enough to eat, etc. They were creepy as hell but seemed well-intentioned--at least they weren't wearing hazmat suits like these fucks over by Grand Central--and i assured them i was just a dumb kid in a park while they tried to lure me in with offers of sleeping bags & warm coffee & sandwiches which were i assume somewhere in between the warmth of the bags & the coffee. it was pretty fucking warm that day, being JULY, but i can only assume "warm" was code for "methadone-flavored."

& about a year ago something similar took place--as i was exiting the Flushing Ave J train station outside Woodhull hospital, some sort of outreach worker tried to lure me into the facility for coffee & sandwiches, assuming [was it my silver vinyl pants?] that i was some directionless junkie the train had spat out by mistake. She kept naming things they could offer me [sandwiches! coffee! do these people have no imagination?] as i scurried down the street, almost running down two idiot kids who instead of walking like normal people did their part to stare at me & tell me it wasn't Halloween. THANKS FUCKERS.

there is a moral to this story but it got lured into a big white van with promises of coffee, sandwiches, & narcotic bedtime stories. LET THIS BE A LESSON.

Monday, November 9, 2009

Big Brother is Bored [dispatches from last week]

I'd like to congratulate my fair city on re-electing our mayoral dinosaur for a dubiously legal third term. billions of dollars spent stuffing my mailbox with junk for the last several months have paid off, resulting in a real live gold star to hang in his office alongside the mounted heads of competitors. in the spirit of looking forward, i will share my predictions for the next four blissful years.

1. mayor Mike will have someone else painstakingly sift through election results in order to find the names of those who voted against him, then initiate another direct mail campaign twice the size of his election deluge. we have to give in to his papery statements of The Facts Of Life eventually. public statements will be made about the nature of the paper upon which these are printed, emphasizing its eco-friendliness without backing this up with coherent information. there will be smiling tree graphics.

2. surveillance initiatives will multiply like rabbits. well, maybe not exactly like rabbits, as that would be rather explicitly sexual & i don't really want to think about security guard orgies. [though i remember the one time i was able to go backstage at the Dragstrip in Trash City at Glastonbury & not have my 4 billion wristbands checked--because the two security guards were making out. that was actually pretty adorable. but NYPD types aren't something you want to catch in any sort of "act."]
anyway: Bloomberg's proposed footwear database* will make its auspicious debut, followed by a spike in crime rates as panicked criminals begin boosting shoes by the truckload, so as to have that crucial 'spare pair' around in order to change mid-flight. K9 units will mill around, barking listlessly & hopelessly confused, foiled by the overpowering aroma of That New-Shoe Smell. their masters will, in typical NYPD fashion, misunderstand the situation & kick them repeatedly, grunting. PETA will get involved. PETA activists will be tased, NYPD officers not counting on the sheer irrational force of PETA's convictions, which will come in handy here in that PETA activists will occupy all of the NYPD's manpower for long periods of time, leaving the criminals to revert to pre-footwear-database levels of shoecrime. The chaos will subside some time around the next mayoral election.

*priceless quote: "Even if a person did throw away their shoes you could tell that by looking at their other shoes." but what does it all mean???

3. Millions of mini-Bloombergs will be dispatched to infiltrate the lungs of city residents to make sure no cigarette smoke is able to get in there. Since even more tobacco products have been banned from NYC store shelves than in the already-fucking-insane rest of the country [see: no more pipe tobacco for you, "kiddies!"], & the no-smoking-in-parks movement actually, improbably, has supporters, it's time to take this battle to the streets. INSIDE OUR LUNGS, BABY. inhalable mini-Bloombergs, which come with fingers waggling & disapproving looks on their faces, will be mandated along with swine flu shots at the start of the 2010-11 school year. Get snortin' kids, your nostrils are about to get a workout that would make Tony Montana quiver...

4. Journalists intruding on mr. Bloomberg's privacy-sphere will be shot, first on sound if they are so bold as to ask him a question not pre-approved by his handlers, & eventually on sight once they've given up trying [verbal precedents set here, repeatedly]. journalists from all over the country, driven to despair by the pitiful state of their "profession," will make a pilgrimage to NYC to commit ritual mass suicide at the claws of the Great Dinosaur.

and there's more to come, of course.